


wherever i am

by ShowMeAHero



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Established Relationship, Fluff, Humor, M/M, Marijuana, Marriage Proposal, Post-Canon, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Smoking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-17
Updated: 2019-09-17
Packaged: 2020-11-02 07:37:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20670713
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShowMeAHero/pseuds/ShowMeAHero
Summary: “You’ve gotta stop wriggling, you fucking twink,” Richie tells him.Eddie laughs, “Oh,I’mthe fucking twink, you messy—”“Hey, hey, no name-calling, I’m sharing my precious weed and Korean chicken with you, you lunatic,” Richie reminds him. He finishes the last of Eddie’s wing himself and drops the bone back into the box, ignoring Eddie’s brief noise of protest. “Take another hit, my God, you’re getting distracted, stop forgetting what you’re doing andsmoke up,Johnny.”





	wherever i am

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from ["Cuz I Love You"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NqjPqsry7no) by Lizzo.

Richie flicks his lighter, flames glowing across his face as he inhales deeply from his glass bowl. The sun set over an hour ago, and he and Eddie are crammed into a hammock together. Eddie’s laying mostly-on top of him, head on his chest, chin tipped up to look at his face. Richie has tilted his head back to smoke properly, but when he does, he blows a stream of smoke straight ahead into the sky, clouding their view of the moon for a moment.

“You can do it, Eds,” Richie tells him, holding the bowl down to Eddie’s face level. Eddie leans into his touch, propping himself up on Richie’s chest, ignoring Richie’s indignant _ oof _when his elbow digs into a kidney. Eddie lets Richie put the bowl to his lips and he inhales, coughing almost immediately. Richie pulls the bowl away from him and smacks him on the back.

“Go fuck yourself,” Eddie says, with feeling, still choking on the smoke. Richie rubs his back, then cranes his neck down to kiss Eddie as deeply as he’s allowed to go. Eddie lets it go on for another moment before he pulls back, catching his breath.

“Better?” Richie asks. Eddie nods, so Richie lights the ground weed and holds the bowl up again. “Slow this time. Breathe like I did. Okay?”

“Yeah, okay,” Eddie says, and Richie lets him inhale again, embers glowing as he does. He goes slow, breathing deep and even, and when he pulls back, he softly exhales a cloud of smoke. He’s in a haze for a moment, and Richie reaches down to stroke through his hair and reassure himself he’s still there.

“Take this,” Richie tells him, and Eddie does, removing the bowl from his hand so Richie can lean down and grab their takeout boxes of Korean chicken. He holds a wing up to Eddie, and Eddie takes it, biting into it and ripping a piece off with his teeth. He grins at Richie and holds up the bowl to him so Richie can light the pipe and take another hit.

“God, I love you, you fucking freak,” Richie says. Eddie laughs around his mouthful of chicken.

_ “You’re _ the fucking freak,” Eddie replies. “Where do you even buy pants? Where do they _ sell _clothes for someone whose body is 95% leg?”

“Shut the fuck up,” Richie says lovingly, holding up the chicken wing again. He shoves it up into Eddie’s nose when he leans in to bite it, and Eddie shakes his head indignantly before he realizes what’s happened.

“Oh, you’re such an asshole,” Eddie says, reaching up to wipe the sauce off his nose and smear it onto Richie’s face. Richie darts forward when Eddie stretches for him, licking his palm, and Eddie yelps, jerking backwards. Richie’s other hand darts out, steadying them as the hammock sways worryingly.

“You’ve gotta stop wriggling, you fucking twink,” Richie tells him.

Eddie laughs, “Oh, _ I’m _the fucking twink, you messy—”

“Hey, hey, no name-calling, I’m sharing my precious weed and Korean chicken with you, you lunatic,” Richie reminds him. He finishes the last of Eddie’s wing himself and drops the bone back into the box, ignoring Eddie’s brief noise of protest. “Take another hit, my God, you’re getting distracted, stop forgetting what you’re doing and _ smoke up, _Johnny.”

“Relax,” Eddie says, and Richie does, a little, leaning his head back in the hammock and letting the breeze rock them for a bit. Eddie flicks the lighter again and relights the bowl, taking a fresh hit and coughing again.

“That’s how you know it’s a good hit,” Richie tells him, taking the bowl back. His cleaner hand keeps running through Eddie’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp, and Eddie’s half-asleep from it. Richie keeps looking up at the stars twinkling above them as he takes one deep hit, then another, blowing smoke rings above their heads. Eddie yawns, watching them dissipate one by one.

“Where are you going tomorrow?” Eddie asks sleepily, dropping his head back down onto Richie’s chest. Richie lights and holds up the bowl for him to take another hit without having to lift his head again, and so he does.

“I’ve got a flight to Boston,” Richie tells him. “Doing a couple shows out there, then some up in Vermont.”

“Not Maine?”

“Nah,” Richie answers. He takes another hit, himself, embers glowing under his eyes. “I asked for no shows in Maine right now. Not totally out of the ordinary. They let me do Vermont instead, no sweat.”

Eddie’s quiet for a moment; waiting to see if Richie’ll continue, probably. When he doesn’t, Eddie says, “How’s that feel?”

“Not going back?” Richie asks. Eddie shrugs, closing his eyes, still just as alert as he’d been with them open. He can feel Richie’s heart picking up speed under his ear, pounding in his chest.

“However you interpret the question,” Eddie offers. Richie’s quiet for only a second.

“I don’t want to go back,” Richie says. “Ever. Which is stupid of me, because there’s nothing left there to be afraid of.”

“It’s not stupid.”

“It is.”

“Rich—”

“Eds, babe, no, it’s _ stupid,” _Richie argues. He holds the bowl up for Eddie to take another hit, relighting it for him, nudging him to get him to open his eyes. “But we’ll get over it. It’ll only get better from here, right?”

“Right,” Eddie agrees, smoke streaming out through his nose. He coughs again. Richie kisses the top of his head, and he catches his breath, settling. Richie presses his face into Eddie’s hair, exhaling slowly; Eddie could feel where his nose was smushed near the crown of his head. Richie shoved his face against his head, dragging his cheek along Eddie’s hair until he could breathe again, head tilted.

“God, I love you,” Richie says. Eddie smiles gently, eyes drifting half-closed again. “Hey, you better not be falling asleep on me, you fucking traitor.”

“Try and stop me, motherfucker,” Eddie murmurs, turning his face into Richie’s chest. Richie’s hand ghosted over his side, up his arm, settling on his shoulder. He rubs his thumb in circles on Eddie’s back, then turns them, gently, slowly, until he’s curled around Eddie, faces side-by-side.

“Rest,” Richie tells him. “You need your sleep, you look like shit.”

“Smooth,” Eddie says.

“Come with me,” Richie blurts out, and Eddie’s silent for a moment before his eyes drift open.

“What?” Eddie asks, sounding marginally more awake. Richie has a brief moment of panic, but he stamps it down.

“Come with me,” he repeats. “On the tour. Come with me to Boston.”

Eddie frowns. “Richie, my company—”

“Eddie my love, _ you _ are the master of your _ own _motherfucking fate,” Richie tells him. “Carpe diem. Seize the day, fuckhead.”

“Classy,” Eddie says. “You know, it’s that sort of thing—”

“Focus,” Richie interrupts him. “I know, it’s rich coming from me— Oh, hey, Rich, rich, get it—”

“Jesus Christ,” Eddie groans. “What the fuck are you trying to say?”

“I want you to come with me,” Richie repeats, “because I’m in love with you and I can’t imagine spending that long apart from you. Not anymore, not after— Well, not now, because of stupid reasons that I don’t want to say.”

“What are those?” Eddie asks. His face hurts from trying not to smile, so he ducks his face down to hide his expression.

“I told you, I’m in love with you,” Richie says. “I want you to… I don’t know. Live with me.”

“We basically already live together in—”

“Then marry me, Jesus Christ, are you never satisfied?” Richie asks, and Eddie seems to realize what he’s said before Richie even does.

“Richie,” Eddie says, and Richie starts shaking his head as Eddie sits up. “Richie. Trashmouth. Look at me.”

“Nope,” Richie says, trying to extricate his limbs from Eddie’s and escape the hammock, Eddie locks them together.

“Richard Tozier, you look at me right now,” Eddie tells him.

“Hell no—”

_ “Richard Tozier, you look at me right now—” _

_ “Hell no—” _

“Do you want to get married?”

“I don’t fucking—”

“You _ don’t _fucking want to get married? Then why did you—”

“Of _ course _ I want to get married, I just—” Richie makes a frustrated noise, deep in his throat, gripping his own hair so it stands on end when he releases it. “I didn’t even get a ring yet. Mother_fucker.” _

Eddie’s laughter comes up short, and he actually sits up to look at Richie’s face, trying to balance the hammock out so they don’t spill out. “You’re serious.”

“Of course I’m motherfucking _ serious, _ Eds, I’m not gonna _ pretend _to ask you to marry me—”

“You’re serious,” Eddie repeats, and then he’s grabbing Richie’s face, yanking him in to kiss. Richie yelps, hands grabbing the sides of the hammock and keeping them steadily in place. Eddie keeps kissing him, trusting Richie to keep them balanced and together.

“I’m serious,” Richie says, when Eddie pulls back. “I want to marry you, dumbass. I have since I was thirteen. I wanna marry you and make you go on tour with me and have a bunch of anxious little babies with you.”

Eddie laughs wetly, then kisses Richie again. “Richie— Richie, you’re gonna have to ask me again when I’m not high, Richie, okay? Because I want to marry you, too.”

Richie’s chest swells, and he holds Eddie tight to his chest. The hammock settles again, drifting slowly back and forth in the nighttime breeze. The clear sky above shines a full moon down on them, trees surrounding them as they trace constellations with their eyes.

“Jesus, Boston _ tomorrow, _I’m not even packed,” Eddie murmurs, starting to stir. Richie tightens his grip, making his intention to hold Eddie in place perfectly clear.

“Don’t worry, I’m not packed either,” Richie assures him.

“That does _ not _ make me feel better,” Eddie says, but he tucks his head up under Richie’s chin anyways, closing his eyes again. Richie’s heartbeat is still racing, pounding against his ear and cheek. It’s a lull, an ocean-moon-tide rhythm that ties them both together, his heart almost matched up with Richie’s. He sighs, finally slotting completely into place with Richie’s limbs and head and heart and chest. Richie holds him, finally falling into sleep, and Eddie just holds him, holds him, _ holds him _in return.

**Author's Note:**

> You can follow me on Twitter at [@nicolelianesolo](https://twitter.com/nicoIodeon) or on Tumblr at [andillwriteyouatragedy](http://andillwriteyouatragedy.tumblr.com/).


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